Another film of Godard about film making, specifically should a film has a story or not. Godard uses a lot of elements from the class conflicts jargon. This is referred in the movie as well by the dialogue " any film has been cast in a factory?"Running a factory has difficulties and problems as making a film in set. However all of these lives are intrigued. The main actress the lower of the factory owner, is waiting material gains but is being deceived like every worker in the factory. The factory owner is always coughing, which shows the general ill manner of the business environment. Movie director decides to forget his ex-wife, and she eventually understand the lies of the owner. Movie director refuses to sell his movie to the Americans, the capitalists, the rebellious girl in the factory do not subdue to be fired.the playing girl, the lamb in the movie set, the child are all the elements that indicate the innocence

My theory is this: you have to watch this film after midnight, after all the cares of the day are forgotten (the phone call you forgot to make, the stuff you didn't pick up at the store) and you can relax completely. Just let the scenes unspool before you, the beautiful images wash over you. Godard has made a kind of masterpiece, under trying circumstances--he wanted Vittorio Storaro as DP, and had to call in Coutard, with whom he was no longer friendly--and his efforts were not crowned with commercial success; the picture was a flop.Jerzy's character is fascinating; he seems to take inertia to new heights. Imagine refusing to shoot because the lighting is wrong. Fritz Lang (and Godard himself, of course) would never have used that silly excuse: they would have worked around any problems on the set. Miss Lucachevski, the tall and very elegant script-girl, says that she is tired of working on a production that produces nothing and we can feel her frustration. Jerzy asks her to read a passage from Les Miserables about Enjolras's passion, then he makes the bloodless remark about bloodless times I've used in the summary. Radziwilowicz is a pudding-faced actor who shows us little of what he's feeling. Hanna Schygulla on the other hand is extraordinarily animated and focused as the uneasy female angle of the triangle with Michel and Jerzy. She is photographed better here than Fassbinder managed to shoot her in his films. MacCabe's book on Godard tells how she came to work one day after a night of excess and Godard insisted on shooting her with every wrinkle lovingly recorded. Whatever, she is gorgeous, every bit as striking as Anna Karina, or even Jane Fonda, to name two of Godard's leading ladies.The enactments of the paintings are ravishing, worth the price of the video in themselves. Myriem Roussel posing on the pool deck for the Ingres Bather is stunning, the entry of the crusaders into Jerusalem will delight you. A knockout.

Sometimes I question myself why I insist on watching films made by Jean-Luc Godard, the most overrated and pretentious director of the cinema history. "Passion" has not been released on VHS or DVD in Brazil, but I have unfortunately bought an imported VHS and today I have decided to watch it. What a waste of time! There is neither storyline nor screenplay; the characters have the first name of each actor or actress; there is no edition and the viewer sees disjointed scenes on the screen. This dreadful mess is about a Polish director, who is the alter-ego of Godard, that is filming a movie without story or money and has simultaneous affair with the owner of a hotel and a worker of a factory. My vote is one (awful).Title (Brazil): Not Available.

Godard scholarship, lined along the axes of variants of French post-structuralism, would appear to have gotten it all wrong: a Godard movie can't be assimilated into a coherent and non-self-contradictory statement about work, gender, representation, or whatever academically approved topic you might name; it can't even be assimilated into a coherent process. What has to be confronted is that the work is essentially diaristic and subjective; these films are the more or less uncensored insides of Godard's head, not a white paper on a topic (no matter how "challenging" or "frustrating to expectations").It also must be acknowledged that for Godard, even ideation is essentially sensuous, aestheticisable; ideas, like a piece of irruptive slapstick staging, a stale aphorism, a blast of the Mozart Requiem, are objects of delectation and desire, and finally repositories of aesthetic emotion--handwrapped presents. To say that the ideology of Godard's Maoist period was finally another aesthetic object for him is not to condescend to him as a radical-chicster. Very simply, Godard is an artist for whom the gland that produces aesthetic feeling works ten times more overtime than anyone else.This produces the jarring and sometimes tonic feeling that we are overhearing the disordered and associative thoughts of God as He falls asleep. In a late, lyric work like HELAS POUR MOI, this quality becomes transcendent: the film is like a communication from a higher alien intelligence. In PASSION, that desire to aestheticize everything in sight, to wave a wand marked "excruciating beauty," in essence to make like a cinematic Goldfinger, is tripped up by the story Godard was required to tell in order to receive funding.The necessity of telling a story is one of the (many) subjects that flit by in this production, which followed Godard's minorly popular comeback, EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF. And the story Godard tells is so halfheartedly offered it disrupts the all-pervasive atmosphere of heightened lyricism he generates elsewhere. In essence, it's the same old movie about the making of a movie: the director (Jerzy Radzilowicz) is an idiot caught between a virginal proletarian (Isabelle Huppert!) and a slatternly hanger-on (Hanna Schygulla). The director pontificates, the producer (Michel Piccoli) avoids paying checks, and the inevitable phone calls for completion funds are delivered in dirty rooms.If this reminds you of everything from BEWARE OF A HOLY WHORE to LIVING IN OBLIVION you're right; but nothing in those movies compared to Godard's strategy of contempt-uously making his stars Huppert and Piccoli stutter and cough, respectively. Or to the moment when a grip tells a child extra out of nowhere, "O those who will come after us--do not harden your hearts against us."PASSION reminded me of John Simon's review of LE GAI SAVOIR, which began in the manner of, "I have seen no movie more illucid, arbitrary, and, yes, insane as..." PASSION genuinely is insane--it raises every line, every gesture, every landscape to a plane of unbearable intensity, and refuses to draw any lines between them. The cumulative effect suggests the personality of a slightly depressed but highly stimulated schizophrenic. Godard's late work is so beyond the prison of our narrative and identificational expectations that we may have to wait several lifetimes for its voice to be genuinely, not just indulgingly, heard.